Notorious

L is in work early on Monday, having kept her gym session short, waiting for both her boss and the attachment of a urgent document sent by her boss to turn up.

There are no post-cycling scotch eggs available at Exeter so I’m roughing it on the chip cobs but L upstages me when she dines on a University meal deal with her friend at lunchtime on Tuesday.

In the evening I make my long awaiting running coming back in the first race of the Grand Prix series. This is the notorious Rushcliffe 4 miler where I have experienced some of my most spectacular injuries. Thankfully there is nothing spectacular about tonight injury-wise or any-wise really and I’m happy to get round in just over 35 minutes. Later England draw 0-0 with Slovenia at the Euros.

My reward for my running comeback is... a rejection email from the London Marathon. Again.

On the park on Thursday the Lad and I get attacked by a golden retriever. That is both traumatic and embarrassing. The chap who came belting across the field in hot pursuit of the errant retriever was very apologetic. Clearly this wasn’t a first occurrence.

Round Two of the Grand Prix series in on Thursday which is the almost as notorious Holme Pierrepont 10k for those who like laps around the rowing strip. I start near the back of the field and set myself a steady pace with the aim to get round in under the hour which I feel would be more than acceptable for a comeback. I stick to my plan, mostly, but gradually speed up finishing in just over 57 minutes. So very happy with that.

On Friday L wakes up with indigestion after our mega salad last night. Salads can be such dangerous things. She heads off to the gym to work it off. I’m at the Rescue Rooms. 

(Friday 28^th June)

The Breeders

Tonight’s openers are London based Big Joanie. That’s a band not a person, named after founder Stephanie Phillips’ Mum and with the ‘big’ meaning confident. They formed amid London’s DIY punk scene in 2013 and have two albums out there.

The four piece take the stage with guitar, keyboards, drums and Phillips wielding a tambourine. It’s an odd mix but they add in bass and a second guitar later. Are they a punk band? or something else? It’s hard to tell. They do entertain us with some interesting wordplay and reasonable tunes but they’re not really for me. 

So on to the headliners...

Midway through tonight’s set The Breeders’ Jim Macpherson gets out from behind his drum kit and comes down to the front of the stage. He introduces the rest of the band and then casually mentions that it was 1993 the last time they played Rock City.

Surely not? It really has been a while then. I didn’t actually see them in Nottingham on that occasion. For reasons I can’t recall, I mean it was 30 years ago, I went to Sheffield University to see them the night before. I probably had some football going on. They did then play Nottingham Trent in 2008 but I didn’t make it to that either.

Often I give my apologies why I haven’t seen a band for a long period. This time, with only one chance in 30 years, it’s clearly not all my fault. Meanwhile other people have the better excuse of not being born. Tonight the audience is about a 50-50 split tonight between young and old, so the band can feel smug that they’re introducing a whole new generation to their music.

Therefore tonight is special is for many reasons and from the first few bars of ‘Saints’ everyone is buzzing. It’s not just about music because here is the nicest band on the planet who are clearly ridiculously happy just to be here and that makes a big difference to everyone’s experience. Even if it has taken them 30 years to find the right page on the atlas.

They’re going to be at Glastonbury the next day, as they tell us obviously, and if you watch that performance they grin their way through that one too.

The set is, as you’d expect, ‘Last Splash’ heavy but there is excellence too from their debut ‘Pod’ (‘Doe’ is amazing, ‘Opened’ is amazing etc etc) along with selections from their other records such as the wonderful ‘Huffer’ from 2002’s ‘Title TK’.

Kim Deal and her cryptic lyrics dominate most of the night but it’s over to sister Kelley for ‘I Don’t Get Along and then to Josephine Wiggs for the penultimate track ‘Megagoth’ which morphs into the Pixies ‘Gigantic’ which of course Kim originally wrote and sung.

And of course there’s the legendary ‘Cannonball’ with its classic opening of those distorted vocals and amazing bassline.

In total it takes them only ninety minutes to blitz through a 21 song set of songs that rarely break three minutes and often don’t even exceed two. 

Then there are two more to come in the encore, the last of which is the pure delight of ‘Divine Hammer’ that sends everyone home with a smile as wide as the band’s. Who.. have I mentioned how nice they all are? Just to prove that Josephine ends the night by taking all the band’s set lists which have been turned into paper planes and sends them flying into the crowd. Such a nice night.

Deermageddon

It's the time of year when the deer are a bit frisky. Well, the female ones anyway. So at the start of the week we find that our park entrance is locked due to a deer attack that took place near it. We end up going for a longer walk via the main entrance but still manage to make it out our usual exit on Sutton Passeys without getting attacked. The next day we do a completely different route in case the gate is locked again. 

Monday is a scotch egg free cycling session as the kitchen at the Exeter is being refurbished.

L, being the cultured one in our relationship, is at Derby Cathedral on Tuesday with her friends. They’re also in the book cafe obviously.

While Wednesday sees me forever opening the front door as five parcels are delivered. Three for L, two for Daughter, none for me.

In the evening I up my Grand Prix training and run 9k with the Lad while L is at a new yoga class. My knees whinge and moan about it but at their age I suppose they’re entitled to. They do say you should listen to your body but mine is always moaning.

By Thursday Deermageddon seems to have blown over and we are back to our normal walk. At least for now.

England draw 1-1 with Denmark at the Euros then I’m at the Harrington in Thulston with my Dad.

After work on Friday we head to Coventry for a weekend away. We stay in the dog friendly and cycle themed Hotel Indigo which is near the train station where we park. We spend the evening in the Triumph Brewhouse which is in the student area on some really strong craft ales.

Which is ideal preparation for Parkrun the next day which is held on War Memorial Park. Now War Memorial Park is where we swear they used to hold every running race in the Coventry area regardless of its length. They’d just add extra laps to make up the distance. So it’s somewhat appropriate that this is where Parkrun is. Two laps obviously.

We have a post-run coffee in the park and then go to O’Toole’s cafe in Earlsdon for breakfast where it says dogs eat for free. Then it’s back to the hotel to fresh up before a tour of Coventry that takes in the cathedral, the Godiva statue, the city walls and the canal basin. Yes, Coventry has a canal. We also check out somewhere called Hops D’amour (a pub obviously) and the Old Windmill (a pub not a windmill) where they do Old Peculiar and Yorkshire Pudding Ale but neither are in good shape. Sadly we don’t find any food in these places so we eat back at the hotel.

In the morning L hits the hotel gym and we walk the Lad on War Memorial Park. There’s no avoiding the place. Then we head off to meet Son and his missus in their new abode. We all go for lunch at the Red Lion on Ansty Road.

(Sunday 23^rd June)

Make It Up As You Go Along

The park is locked again on Monday morning so I walk the streets with L and the Lad. Then she’s in work and not happy about it. For some reason she prefers a trip to Sainsbury’s for which I am left a very posh shopping list - Sancere, Emmental and Paxo. Well, I suppose not the Paxo.

L says she’s been really bad and spent £15 in the Audible audiobook sale. Well, there’s worse things she could have spent it on. Such as Paxo.

My cycling session is rather crash strewn but thankfully none of them involve me. 

The General Election campaign is in full swing but it’s more of a dismal funeral for the Tory party rather than a proper campaign. In our area the only election leaflet we’ve had so far is from George Galloway and he isn’t even the candidate here. 

Our neighbour’s dog is now marked as ‘reserved’ but there’s no sign of our neighbour. We are reliably informed ‘he’s brown bread’ by our local mobility scooter riding informant who seems to know what's going on..

Tuesday is steak night and Wednesday is L’s book club and yoga. The Lad and I have dog training. A last chance for some progress before a Dog Show on Sunday.

The weather in horrendous. I am thankful for my own personal ray of sunshine, L, to accompany me on the morning walk. The Lad is just thankful for the muddy puddles, his favourite kind.

L is in Derby on Thursday having given up on the swimming at Lenton. I ‘reschedule’ a training run for my Grand Prix because it’s raining. The Lad doesn’t look too disappointed. Having failed to find any Sancere, we have to make do with a bottle of Chablis.

L double walks on Friday. First with the Lad and I then with her friend. I ‘reschedule’ another training run because it is raining again. Compensation is a Friday night in with a big bottle of Leffe.

On Saturday we Parkrun at Brierly Forest and then go for coffee afterwards in their cafe. Then I go visit my Dad where I work down his favourite checklist. Co-op - check. Garden Centre - check. Lunch in the New Inn - check. At the New Inn, the Lad sits watching opened mouthed in horror as my Dad eats all his chips. It’s a long gap until his bag of crisps in the Plough that evening, filled only by his own tea of course.

On Sunday we have that Dog Show. He does alright on his first jumping run apart from the two extra tunnels he fitted in. Run two meanwhile was, shall we say, entertaining. Runs three and four I shall gloss over but we ended up with the usual four Es. There were some good bits, somewhere I’m sure, and he had a great time.

In the evening I visit the gym with L. She’s on arms. I’m on my usual ‘make it up as you go along’ knee workout. Then it’s back home to watch England beat Serbia 1-0 in the Euros.

(Sunday 16^th June)

WhatsApp For Dogs

L opens the week at the gym and then crawls into work. I point out that it must have been an intense gym session then but she says I misunderstand. By 'crawls' she meant she’s dragged herself by the scruff of the neck into work. Once at work L’s boss threatens to sack her if she votes Labour. She's told him that's absolutely fine.

The Lad now has his own WhatsApp group and gets a picture taken every time he moves any footwear. Now he daren’t move any shoes in case he gets filmed. 

That said, he's probably safer than he think because Daughter set up the group and we don’t see a lot of her these days. Often she just pops home to use the shower then disappears off out again.

I up my training for the Grand Prix with a 7.5k run with the Lad and L on Wednesday after work. 

While we also find out that one of our elderly neighbours is in hospital and he’s given his dog to the RSPCA. We do hope that someone will snap the dog up. Most dogs on the website seem to be reserved, so it looks promising. I’m sure L will be monitoring it closely.

L’s Mum is on the scene as Derby bus station is closed because of a bus fire. This isn't the first time this has happened.

Thursday I have a committee meeting and on Friday we’re in the gym together again.

On Saturday we Parkrun in Burton at somewhere called Battlestead Croft which is the rugby ground. Unfortunately the car, with its bonkers Sat Nav, takes us to completely the wrong place and we have to back track. We arrive late and start five minutes after everyone else but still do the run.

We go straight to see my Dad afterwards. From where I take him to the Co-Op and the Garden Centre while L gets the i4 home. Then I cut my Dad’s lawn while L does ours.

We are in the Plough later with a smelly dog who has rolled in something unpleasant. They have Centurion and Supreme on, so it’s a good night.

On Sunday we have a trip out to the National Memorial Arboretum with L, Daughter and the Lad as they are very dog friendly. 

(Sunday 9^th June)

The Offer Remains On The Table

We are back from Cambridge in time for the Bank Holiday into which we somehow cram in an extremely pleasant lie in, a leisurely walk with the Lad (if such a thing exists) and a not-so-leisurely joint gym session. After which there is somehow still time to take my Dad for a late lunch at the New Inn. Amazingly the Lad puts away the leftovers of garlic bread, chips, fish batter and a slice of bread and butter. Oh and a couple of ginger biscuits.

L is actually in work on Tuesday and it seems weird communicating on email with her again. So I walk and shop on my own. The walk was nice and quiet with no schools around but Sainsburys was traumatic. It took five staff to work out how to take the security tag off the bottle of whiskey I’d bought.

L is unhappy to be in work again on Wednesday but she should be looking on the bright side. It’s only her second day in work this week and its already the start of her weekend tomorrow as she doesn’t work Thursday or Friday.

On Thursday evening we run 6k with the Lad as my first training run towards the Nottingham Grand Prix of four races that I’m doing for the first time since 2018 which was curtailed when I twisted my ankle halfway through the first race. We celebrate my comeback with a bottle of red.

At the same time negotiations reopen over the long illusive summer dress that I offered to buy L around a decade ago. The offer remains on the table but I think L is fearful of following through on the offer in case I get overexcited given my age and ailments.

L is at Derby Book Festival on Friday seeing someone called Francis Spufford at Quad. The Lad and I meet her later in the Exeter and then bring her home to woo her with a Spam Curry.

We parkrun at Wollaton on Saturday and then in the evening we are both at the Book Festival to see James O’Brien, who rants far less in person that he did when reading his own audiobook. The debate in the room is excellent and L and I continue it afterwards in the Smithfield over a pint of Sarah Hughes’s 6% Mild.

L is at the book festival again on Sunday for two talks at the Roundhouse while I attack our hedge. We do the gym in the evening. 

(Sunday 2^nd June)